Unexpected Influence
by artandatrocity
Summary: Santana insists that she, Kurt and Rachel end a long day of work with copious amounts of alcohol and they reluctantly agree. Kurt wakes the next morning and while his memory of the previous evening is fuzzy, the new pain in his abdomen is sharp and clear. While struggling to come to terms with his new jewelry Kurt realizes that he will soon have to explain the accessory to Blaine.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: ****For clarification, this is mostly an AU with some canon elements. For the most part the only differences are that 1) Blaine and Kurt are not engaged, 2) Blaine does live in New York but not in the loft and 3) Kurt never got the tattoo or tongue piercing.**

**Also, here's an abridged version of the prompt, just so you have an idea what you're in for:**  
** "Kurt and Blaine are together and in New York. One night Kurt and Santana and Rachel hang out in the apartment drinking wine. If Blaine lives with them, maybe he's out of town for a day or two; or if he has his own apartment/dorm room, then he's busy with something else, or a job. Basically Blaine isn't there.**  
** So the three of them get good and plastered, and they leave for a bit, and the next morning Kurt wakes up with his belly button pierced. **  
** Kurt freaks and doesn't remember going to get it done (Santana can or not, either way is fine) and thinks of taking it out and isn't sure if Blaine'll think it's weird or whatever because Kurt never saw himself getting anything pierced, ever. But when he shows his boyfriend, Blaine is completely enthralled with it." **

**Alright, carry on!**

* * *

"Sweet, merciful Lord," Kurt groaned as he sank into one of the loft's mismatched armchairs, "remind me never to trust Gunther again when he offers to let me work 'another hour or so.'"

"Stop whining," Santana said, sliding the loft door closed behind her, "I know how much cash is in your pocket right now."

He, Rachel and Santana all worked at the diner that day, though Kurt spent significantly more time there. Originally he planned to work from 7am-11am; a reasonable timeframe that would allow him to spend the afternoon tackling a mountain of homework and possibly enjoying a nap. However when 11am arrived the joint was packed full of patrons and Gunther asked him to stay awhile longer. Not one to turn down a few extra hours added to his paycheck, Kurt agreed to keep on working. When Rachel and Santana came in at noon, scheduled to cover the afternoon hours, there was no sign of him being released any time soon. The afternoon passed and it seemed as though Gunther flat out forgot that Kurt was still there. Exhausted and so very ready to leave, Kurt still didn't want to pass up the additional hours, telling himself that putting in extra time today meant that maybe he could justify taking less shifts when finals arrived.

Still, 5pm hit and the girls were scheduled to leave when he decided to throw in the towel. Yes, he'd gotten the necessary breaks, but it still felt like a long time since he left the loft that morning. Now that he was sitting he didn't know if he possessed the strength to get up and change out of his uniform, let alone shower or cook dinner. He closed his eyes and sank lower into the chair, content to stay in this position for the time being, or possibly forever.

He was jolted back to reality by a hard smack to his shoulder and his eyes flew open to find Santana smiling down at him.

"None of that, lady lips. Go change and get back out here. There are four bottles of wine in the kitchen waiting for us tonight."

Kurt gaped at her.

"Santana, I can barely keep my eyes open. I don't think alcohol is the solution."

"Don't feed me that sobriety-is-uplifting crap. Alcohol is always the solution."

Shaking his head in disbelief he began to ask,

"How did you even get your hands on that much wi— You know what, forget it, I don't want to know."

Rachel hovered nearby, watching the interaction uncertainly. Santana rounded on her next.

"Well, Berry? Are you going to be a wet blanket, too? Because you know I'll just get drunk without either of you, and then you have to deal with me without any intoxicated buffers of your own. I know how much you love that."

Kurt sighed and exchanged looks with his other roommate. With Santana, they always came down to two choices— fight or give in.

"Fine, Santana, you win," he announced.

She smiled triumphantly.

"I always do. Now let's get out of these godawful uniforms so we can order takeout and get our drink on."

At the first sip of wine, Kurt knew this was a bad idea. He was exhausted and missing Blaine, who was 12 hours in to a self-imposed three day exile, claiming that if he didn't just sit down and focus on homework for a few days then it would never be finished. Kurt knew this wasn't necessarily true, but part of what he loved about Blaine was his boyfriend's dedication. The work always got done, but Blaine didn't half-ass anything and would beat himself up if he thought he produced anything less than his best. Even though Kurt admired this, he was currently faced with a Saturday night in the company of his [soon to be trashed] roommates. Having a little back-up once the girls inevitably began taunting him wouldn't exactly hurt.

But here he was; Blaine-less and glass in hand. He knew that if he tried to get away with sneaking off to bed after dinner that Santana would follow and physically extricate him from the sheets. One episode of this action was plenty for his lifetime and he didn't much care to repeat the experience.

By 8pm all three of them were well past "tipsy" and plunging full speed into "plastered." Through his haze Kurt wondered why they didn't do this more often. They were easily laughing and gossiping, a long forgotten movie playing in the background. Given their shared history they knew each other well enough to keep a conversation flowing. Plus, with enough alcohol in his system Kurt could even tolerate Santana's exceptionally inappropriate comments and questions about his sex life. At 9pm, he officially lost track of time and ceased to truly register what was going on around him. It wouldn't be until another solid 12 hours passed that he'd actually regain awareness.

The first thing he noticed were the crashing waves of a beach that had clearly taken up residence in his stomach. Next was the crunch of his spine as he moved slightly on top of a very hard surface. Opening his eyes was not a pleasant concept; both for the physical agony that he knew would accompany light, and the knowledge that he was likely about to find himself in undignified circumstances.

He cracked open one eye, instantly relieved to recognize his living room in the loft. Thank god he was at least in his own home. However, he was also lying sprawled out on the floor, inexplicable with one shoe off with a towel spread out over him. Unable to stand the thought of making himself vertical just yet, he continued to survey the room from his horizontal viewpoint. Santana was draped across the couch, one leg flung over the side and hands stuffed under her head. The coffee table was littered with bottles and takeout boxes. Clearly no one had the wherewithal to clean up last night, which was unusual because normally Kurt would be first to become aggravated by the mess and wind up clearing it himself.

Kurt wracked his brain in a struggle to remember something, anything, about how he came to be in this position. His last memory of the evening was listening to Santana sing the praises of Dani's tits while he polished off one of the bottles. Everything after that was wiped from his memory.

Gathering up his strength and willing himself not to vomit, Kurt sat up. As soon as his abdomen moved he felt a sharp pain in his bellybutton. It felt like something was stuck in there and, on top of that, it itched as well. He finally got to his feet and staggered toward the bathroom, his first missions being to find the Tylenol and figure out the source of this mystery pain. Standing in front of the mirror he blinked blearily at his reflection and lifted his shirt. Suddenly the headache and nausea fled into the background of his senses, panic setting in as he eyed the silver barbell marring his otherwise unblemished skin.

"SANTANA LOPEZ I WILL FUCKING MURDER YOU!" he bellowed, stumbling slightly as he stormed back in to the living room. He didn't know where Rachel was, nor did he care at the moment if he just woke her up. Questions needed to be answered, and it needed to happen immediately.

He approached the couch and grabbed a throw pillow, beginning to beat his still unconscious friend with it. Santana jerked awake, nearly toppling off the couch.

"Ow, ow, Jesus, Hummel! Don't you know how to treat a hungover lady?"

He glared at her, rage radiating from every pore as he yanked up the hem of shirt to expose his navel.

"I know this is your fault. Explain. Now."

She sagged back into the couch, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

"It's your body. How is this my fault?"

He smacked her again with the pillow.

"Don't play cute with me, Lopez. No amount of alcohol could cause this to be my idea, so I know your powers of suggestion are behind it."

She shrugged, looking bored.

"I may have suggested we check out a piercing parlor that's open late on weekends. I may have suggested that you are boring, and you quite possibly might have gotten defensive and decided to prove me wrong. I didn't _tell _you to do squat."

Though furious with the Latina, Kurt's legs felt close to giving out and he collapsed onto the couch next to her, head in his hands.

"Oh god. How did you even find someone willing to pierce an intoxicated person? Isn't that illegal?"

She gave another half-hearted twitch of her shoulders.

"All I had to do was flash a little side boob and then he looked the other way while I forged your signature."

Kurt's mouth dropped open. He knew full well that Santana maintained incredibly questionable views of right and wrong, but sometimes she still managed to catch him off guard with her decisions.

"I can't believe you! Seriously, you have pulled some sincerely messed up stunts before, but this…" he couldn't even find an end to the sentence.

"Oh, lighten up. You had the cash on you from that extra shift yesterday and it's not like its permanent. Just take it out if you're really that upset."

He was still not nearly awake enough to fully process everything, too shocked and angry to put together rational thoughts. Kurt rose and moved into the kitchen, unable to handle close proximity to Santana any longer. After pouring a large glass of water he leaned against the counter, debating his next move for the day. Santana wandered in behind him with a small bag in her hands, which she thrust in his direction.

"Here, these are your cleaning supplies and care instructions. You might want to go through them."

Kurt accepted the bag, genuinely surprised by Santana's consideration. She might be a manipulative bitch with a twisted sense of humor, but at least she wasn't going to let his bellybutton rot away. Ultimately deciding that cooking was definitely not going to happen that morning, he set down his glass and headed for the bathroom. Santana had resumed her place on the couch and he paused, realizing that, aside from the obvious, something wasn't quite right.

"Satan, where's Rachel?"

She waved noncommittally without even opening her eyes.

"Oh, she went home with some guy from the bar that we visited after you got punctured."

Kurt stood rooted to spot, horrified and livid.

"You let her leave with some stranger? Just how fucked up were you?"

"Ay dios mio, chill out. They obviously knew each other and she already texted me this morning. The she-hobbit is fine."

Instead of responding he continued to the bathroom, incapable of dealing with Santana just now. He planned to shower, make himself presentable, and then bolt from the loft as quickly as possible in search of food, coffee and a little peace.

In the solitude of the bathroom he opened the bag Santana handed him. As he read through the care instructions he grew increasingly dismayed. The actual cleaning processes were simple enough, but the side effects and healing directions did not sit well with him. Avoid tight clothing? Prepare for oozing and crusting? Beware strenuous physical activity? He had an image of trying to make it through his next dance class without being paralyzed by paranoia of ripping the stupid thing out of his naval. Not to mention it was going to make having sex with Blaine a hell of a lot more—

Oh god. Blaine.

* * *

**A/N: This story will be posted in two parts, so look out for the next one.  
**


	2. Chapter 2

Caught up in both his irritation with Santana and a general sense of panic, he had completely forgotten about his boyfriend and said boyfriend's potential reaction. More than anything Kurt felt ashamed that he allowed himself to get so intoxicated that he fell in to one of Santana's deviant schemes. Coupled with this was the fact that things like piercings simply weren't _Kurt_. He'd never once entertained the idea of getting one and rarely found them aesthetically pleasing on other people. As a general rule, body manipulations simply did not fit in to his idea of style and he was almost certain that Blaine felt the same.

Armed with the information in his hand and the full awareness that, one way or another, Blaine would find out about this, Kurt weighed his options.

First, and most practically, he could remove the ring right now and continue cleaning the wound until the hole closed up. The benefit of this choice was that it would be gone and, once healed, he wouldn't have to deal with it ever again. Plus, he'd be back into his tight, high-waist jeans all that much faster. The downsides were dealing with an ugly scar and explaining said scar to Blaine. Of course even if he decided to keep it in for awhile, someday it'd have to go, inevitably leaving him with a scar (and oh, was Santana going to pay for that fact). Should he choose to retain and care for the piercing, there would still be the matter of explaining his rash decision to his preppy boyfriend.

Kurt groaned, realizing that he couldn't win either way. Ultimately he settled on leaving the ring for the requisite month long healing process. He decided that he would rather let the scar tissue build up before removing it, instead of walking around with a vulnerable, oozing open wound. Now the only questions remaining were when and how to tell Blaine about his rebellious evening.

Sighing, he figured that sooner would likely be easier than later. He knew that Blaine was sequestered away at the moment, nose planted firmly against the grindstone, and normally Kurt wouldn't interrupt that. However, these were not normal circumstances, and he believed that Blaine would forgive him this once.

Kurt nervously dialed Blaine, unsure of exactly what to say but convinced that the phone call needed to happen.

Blaine picked up on the second ring.

"Hey stranger, I didn't expect to hear from you this weekend."

For a split second Kurt considered hanging up, to later pretend that he accidentally hit the number for Blaine's speed dial. Unfortunately he hesitated a beat too long and Blaine's voice wavered in concern from the other end of the line.

"Kurt, honey? Hello?"

"Hi," Kurt managed to croak, "sorry, I know I agreed to leave you alone this weekend, there's just something I need to tell you about."

Panic dripped from Blaine's response,

"Oh my god, is everything ok? What's wrong?"

Kurt mentally slapped himself for not coming up with a script before making the call.

"No, no, everything is fine. I just… well last night was incredibly bizarre and I wanted to tell you about it."

There was silence over the line for a few seconds.

"Kurt, I know you wouldn't be calling me right now if whatever happened isn't really bothering you. Please just tell me what's going on, because I'm freaking out over here."

Again Kurt berated himself. This was not going well.

"It's just," he began, struggling to find the correct words, "Rachel, Santana and I got really drunk last night, and then we went out and…" Kurt lost his normally impressive vocabulary at this point.

"And…" Blaine interjected during the pause.

"And, well," Kurt continued, "I did something really stupid."

Another moment of silence followed before Blaine spoke again, his voice cracking.

"Kurt, did you… you didn't… was it another guy?"

Even though Blaine couldn't see him, Kurt shook his head vehemently.

"Oh, god, no, Blaine, nothing like that!" he exclaimed, hating himself for allowing that idea to float into his boyfriend's head. He really should have gotten that coffee before trying to have this conversation. "No, definitely not. It's just, you know how Santana is, especially when she drinks. She gets ideas and has a way of talking people in to going along with them."

He heard Blaine release a breath, half in relief and half in exasperation.

"Kurt, you're really winding me up right now. Can you please give me a straight answer?"

Kurt pinched the bride of his nose.

"Sorry, I'm not explaining this well at all. I think it'd be easier to just show you. But I don't want you to walk away from your work, so do you think you can come over after school tomorrow?"

Blaine huffed out a short laugh.

"Ha! As if I'm going to be able to focus the rest of the day after this cryptic phone call. I am almost done with this paper and really want to finish it, though. Can I be there at 2:00?"

Looking at the clock on the bathroom wall, Kurt noted that it was almost 11am. That gave him plenty of time to hunt down food and caffeine after making himself presentable. As an added bonus, his roommates would be at work by then and not set to come home until at least 7pm.

"It's really not that big of a deal. I know I'm making it sound worse than it is. But if you really want to then, yes, 2:00 sounds good."

"Great. Now go take a walk or something and calm down a little. And get some coffee. And some food. I don't want to find you panicked AND cranky."

Kurt smiled. Sometimes it was scary how well Blaine knew him, but always comforting to know that he cared.

"Alright, I promise I'll go do all of those things soon. See you in a few hours."

"You'd better. I love you."

"I love you, too," Kurt replied before ending the call.

He set his phone down on the counter and began to strip off his clothes, all of which smelled disgusting. Kurt didn't bother doing anything other than toss them on the floor in a tangled heap. After all, he'd already slept on the floor in them and they needed a deep cleaning before going anywhere near his closet again.

Kurt turned on the shower but didn't step under the spray right away. Instead he stood naked before the mirror, examining his body and considering how the new accessory fit in with the rest of his form. Even in the dim light of the bathroom the little silver barbell glimmered at his navel. It drew focus directly to his abdomen and he had to admit that this didn't necessarily bother him. A few years ago the idea of showcasing that part of his body would have horrified him. Now after enough dance classes, regular yoga sessions and other miscellaneous workout routines he took pride in his toned muscles and slim waist. The idea of someone else's eyes being pulled to that area actually made him preen a little. He took a final glance and stepped into the tub, prepared to add one more cleaning step to his showering routine for the next month.

* * *

**A/N:** **I lied, friends- we're doing this thing in three parts. Why? Well, mostly because it felt like a good place to leave off for a bit, but also just because I can :P **


End file.
